Holbein at the Tudor Court is a schizophrenic exhibition: it can't decide whether it is a show about court propaganda or an indepth look at Hans Holbein's art. On the one hand there are three grand set pieces depicting The Battle of the Spurs, the Field of the Cloth of Gold and the Family of Henry VIII. All are magnificent, giving a sense of Tudor self-importance and the lengths which the new dynasty would go to establish its image; they primarily of historical rather than artistic significance but worth seeing for all that. The Field of the Cloth of Gold has been recently conserved, the various anonymous hands clearly distinguishable, its details vividly clear, displaying a combination of humour, opulence which includes an almost fanciful dragon firework in the sky The exhibition has a free audio guide, which looks at a small number of works, including this, in depth, and it is very good. But these three stand out. Less convincing are the Flemish School Holbein rip-offs, like the portrait of Princess Elizabeth: arguably they emphasise the gulf in ability between their producers, but in reality their presence seems only to dilute and diminish that of the original. Then stuck in the middle of the last gallery we have suits of armour, arguably there only to fill the space. Queen's Picture Gallery exhibitions are all about showcasing the royal collection, but sometimes they need a bit of judicious pruning.
However, it is really, and it certainly should really be, the Holbein show, and this is where it takes off. The Royal Collection has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to his work, both drawings and paintings, and they make good use of their treasures. After a brief introduction which shows the artist's early religious subjects, we dive straight in. Drawing after drawing shows his method and his skill: precise features, sketched dress, written notes on colour and detail, economical and efficient. He worked on pink-tinted paper to better represent the complexion of his sitters. We see the punch marks which he used to transfer drawing to painting. We learn the tricks of the trade which allowed him to elongate faces or increase stature. Occasionally - though not often enough - we are presented with drawing and painting side by side, the whole process in all its perfect completeness.
That is the overriding impression of this exhibition. Perfection. Holbein has the precision, the finesse and the seemingly effortless alchemy to turn paint into fur, silk, hair, skin. There is something almost unnatural about the non-photographic, photographic accuracy, AI in paint. His colours, especially those teal greens and blues have a richness which brings the sixteenth century into living touchable vitality. His observation is so acute that physical characteristics merge into psychological traits. Here is Thomas More, stubble pin-pricking his chin, a slight sag under the eyes that it is almost impossible not to read prophetically; Archbishop Warham wearied by age and weight of being a man of God in an age of politics. His men are better than his women who seem constrained by the requirements of fashion and ideals of beauty, but even then, with his drawing of Mary Shelton, the set of her lips, the intensity of her gaze creates a compelling sense of pent-up conformity.
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